We See It [David’s blog on DR Thursday]

It’s rare but it happens. We write a post, read it aloud – and then throw it away. It’s too much, usually a rant, and we realize the point in writing it was to vent – so there’s no need to share. Bellowing rarely helps anyone.

Years ago, completely disgusted by the actions of a school administration, my wise friend suggested I write a letter to the superintendent. After I wrote my angry letter my wise friend read my words of discontent. He smiled and then gently suggested that I put my letter in a file. I was confused. “Sometimes the important point is to write it,” he said. “Beyond that, there’s nothing to be gained.”

He was right and I am grateful to this day that I took his advice. My wise friend taught me to discern between a vent of anger and an effective use of voice.

I fairly raged for weeks following the election. Some of my pals checked in, concerned at the dark turn of my posts. A few told me that they had to stop reading since my words only served to magnify rather than mend their own grief and rage. “It was too much.”

As I learned so long ago, sometimes it is necessary to file it and sometimes it is necessary to say it.

My words were intended to be too much. Our village commons is being torched and outrage is appropriate. Ringing the alarm is necessary. It does no good to turn away from the assault on our rights, to ignore the attack on many of our citizens. It does no good to normalize each successive outrage. There is nothing to be gained in pretending that there is merit to malfeasance. There is not.

In silence there is plenty to be lost. Each voice, demanding from our elected representatives to speak truth amidst an avalanche of lies, seems imperative. Asking our government, our courts, to uphold its values and honor its laws does not seem out of place. To look-the-other-way is too much.

It is not the time to put our letters into the file. There is nothing to be gained in silence.

Sometimes the point is to share it. Sometimes it is necessary to shout into the wind, “I see what is happening here.”

Perhaps, someday, if truth and good-intention reclaim the reins of the nation, there will be a time for mending. It is not now. Now is the time to magnify, to shout together, “We see what is happening here.”

from the archives: Pieta with Paparazzi

read Kerri’s blogpost about PRICKLY

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Howling Inside! [David’s blog on DR Thursday]

“A great fire burns within me, but no one stops to warm themselves at it, and passers-by see only a wisp of smoke” ~ Vincent Van Gogh

It’s become an inside joke. She always protests when I write the phrase, howl-with-laughter. “You do not howl,” she insists, “You use the word ‘howl’ but it’s never true!” She’s a tough editor, demanding truth. I insist that I am howling with laughter on the inside and what hits the surface only looks like a giggle. It’s really a howl.

So far she isn’t buying it. Now, when we are in public and I find something amusing, I am quick to point out that my grin is really a howl. “Did you see that!” I exclaim, “That’s me howling.” She rolls her eyes.

It’s also true when that when we are out-and-about and I see something that irritates me and I scowl, I say, “Did you see that! That’s me howling.”

“Me, too,” she says.

She is more apt to accept the truth of my inner-editor-claim when I am suppressing a howl of disdain.

When I was in the first phases of my artist-life many of my paintings were howls that hit canvas. Howls of pain. Howls of resistance. Howls of fear. Even now I am not sure what a howl of laughter would look like on a canvas but I’d like to find out. I’m ready for a full spectrum howl.

Weeks ago Horatio suggested that I let myself paint “crap.” He meant that I should howl on canvas without discernment or restriction. Howl with abandon. A few days ago he attached one of Kerri’s photos in an email – sending it back-at-me – and wrote: “Dude. Make some crap from this absolutely stunning photo. Riff on it. Mess with it. Do it more than once. There’s juice in this image.” He’s working for my muse, stoking my fire, and I hope she’s paying him appropriately.

Of course, Kerri said, “Did you see what he wrote about my photo?” she gloated, “He said it was absolutely stunning. Stunning. Absolutely. Stunning. There’s juice in it. Juice!”

I maintained my best poker face. I allowed no expression to hit the surface. I did not want to feed her swagger. She smiled, saying, “I know. I’ll bet inside there you are just howling!”

one of my howls, a totem circa 1990

Visit my gallery site

read Kerri’s blogpost about THE FIRE

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Sanctuary Creation [David’s blog on Merely A Thought Monday]

We arrive at another eve’s eve. This year we will slide across the line into 2025 with little-to-no fanfare. We’ll make pizzas and perhaps work on a puzzle. “Working-on-a-puzzle” will be our metaphoric theme for the upcoming year: how do we assemble these disparate pieces into a cohesive picture?

It’s difficult (for me) to move into the new year without trepidation for what’s ahead.

During Covid, with great intention, we made our home a sanctuary. A peaceful space. We created comfort-rituals like our happy-hour so we might ground our days in the positive, in something we looked forward to enjoying at the end of each day. In 2025 we are anticipating a return to the sanctuary since we believe the incoming kakistocracy is a deadly virus rolling across our nation. Social-distancing seems prudent.

This weekend we had a break in the weather and hit the trail. The textures in winter are gorgeous. Water rushing beneath ice, milkweed pods long since exploded and empty of their seeds, a stand of trees barren of their leaves, islands rising from a sea of ochre grasses. Silhouettes against the setting sun.

Among our holiday rituals is to watch the movie, Love Actually. In a famous scene (one among many) Rufus (Rowan Atkinson) giftwraps a gold necklace for a very impatient Harry (Alan Rickman). It is a classic collision of expectations and, even though I know what’s coming, it has me chuckling every time.

Enjoying rituals of comfort. Assembling our disparate pieces into a cohesive whole. Noticing the gorgeous. Returning again and again to tried-and-true sources of laughter. Moving into 2025 I am most grateful that we are adept at sanctuary creation.

read Kerri’s blogpost about FLASHES

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No Faith Necessary [David’s blog on DR Thursday]

“And don’t think the garden loses its ecstasy in winter. It’s quiet, but the roots are down there riotous.” ~ Rumi

The fog is dense this morning. It feels otherworldly. Quiet.

I am delighted for the fog. The quiet is welcome.

When I opened the door this morning to let Dogga out, I expected to hear the mournful call of the foghorn. Instead I was met with a sweet bird song. A single singer. A lover of fog. I listened for a few moments, closed my eyes.

What a surprise to expect the distant dour call of the foghorn and instead be greeted by genuinely lighthearted chirping!

A day ago – one single day – the coneflower sculpture was covered in snow. We marveled at it as the snow transformed it, a fancy white umbrella. It has reemerged as a coneflower and, on this foggy, foggy morning, seemed to be listening. I imagined it was holding a vigil. Perhaps it was keeping watch for the spring. “Keep the faith,” I whispered.

“No faith necessary,” replied the coneflower. Or so I imagined. Saucy flower!

I remembered my first experience scuba diving. There was an entire world of color and vital life not visible on the surface. I was giddy with my discovery. Had I never learned to dive I would not know of the vibrant universe that existed beneath the waves, just out of my sight.

“No faith necessary,” I repeated as I closed the backdoor. Turning my attention to making coffee, I pondered what other wonders were bubbling all around me that I simply cannot see.

detail of a work in progress

read Kerri’s blogpost about FOG

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Remember The Ritual [David’s blog on DR Thursday]

One week from today is Boxing Day. The day after Christmas.

If you seek a symptom for the source of the troubles of our world, you need only look at Boxing Day. Boxing Day was once a day to donate gifts to those in need, but it has evolved to become a part of Christmas festivities, with many people choosing to shop for deals…” I’m not trying to be cynical. I’m trying to point out the obvious.

I’m re-reading Martin Prechtel’s book, Long Life Honey In The Heart. It’s a book about the Tzutujil initiation into maturity. “Initiation was mandatory in those days and constituted the beginning of adulthood. This rite of passage, however, was not what made you into an adult. This first initiation only made you ripe enough to continue on in a lifelong pursuit of turning yourself into an adult, on through the next three layers of service to the village.”

Can you imagine a community in which service to others is the very pursuit that defines the achievement of adulthood?

According to the Tzutujil ideal, very few of us in this nation turn ourselves into adults. In fact, if you look at the incoming administration, it’s easy to see the absence of adults – grown bodies stuck in adolescent minds and obsessed with self-increase. Service to the community – the point of governance – is nowhere to be found. They are – without exception – men and women of our time.

It is not an understatement or any great revelation to suggest that we have lost our way. We’ve confused money with morality and follow business gain as our north star. Business is a lousy organizing principle for a community. It has its place, certainly. The unbridled levers of business too easily lead to exploitation. Additionally, everything should not run like a business, especially service organizations like healthcare or education. Or religious institutions. Or the arts. Or government. Some things are sacred and business is not one of them. Personal gain at any cost – has a cost – and it is the unity of the community.

We see yard signs everywhere that read, “Keep Christ in Christmas,” to which Kerri responds, “How about keeping Christ in Christianity?”

It’s a pattern. Where the health of the community is involved there are two paths: one is service and the other is self-service. One way leads to cohesion and the other to disillusion. We should not be surprised that our leaders are infantile and our religious holidays subvert giving for gain.

Maybe the place to restart our journey toward a healthy nation is to begin the pursuit of turning ourselves into adults; reinforce in each other the development of a healthy inner life. Perhaps, since we are hellbent on turning back time, we should begin by remembering and practicing the original ritual of Boxing Day.

a work in progress

read Kerri’s blogpost about REEDS

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A Happy Spirit [David’s blog on DR Thursday]

“I would rather walk with a friend in the dark, than alone in the light.” ~ Helen Keller

We bought the chandelier a few years ago. It was meant to hang over Barney, our disintegrating backyard piano, but it wasn’t the right fit. For a single summer it lived just outside our backdoor. It’s a solar chandelier so it jumped to life for a few hours after the sunset. It never held a charge for very long.

It migrated into our sunroom, suspended just beneath the plant table. It tickled us that we had a low chandelier that nearly touched the floor. It didn’t get a ton of sunlight from its place beneath the table so it sprang to life for only a few minutes each night after we turned out the lights.

As part of the recent whirling-dervish-clean-fest, the chandelier has been elevated to a new position. Now, instead of dangling beneath the plant table, it proudly hangs above it in a prime position receiving plenty of light. Now, when the lights go out and the chandelier springs into life, it casts glorious shadows across the ceiling.

As part of my evening ritual of closing up the house, I move room-to-room pulling the plug on our many happy lights, saving the sunroom for the last. I like watching the chandelier illuminate, fulfill its purpose and cast its shadow. It both amuses me and I find it oddly comforting.

Last night, knowing that it had only a few minutes of charge since the day had been dark and cloudy, I stood and watched the shadow change as the little chandelier waxed and then slowly waned. A lifespan of a few moments, a complete arc, as the vibrant jeweled octopus stretched across the ceiling and then almost immediately faded into nothingness. The quick visit of a happy spirit. It sent me to bed with a smile and the promise of another visit in the morrow.

a work in progress

read Kerri’s blogpost about THE CHANDELIER SHADOW

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My Constellations [David’s blog on DR Thursday]

Like stars in the sky, there are moments in life that form constellations. Actually, the stars do not form the constellations, we do. We are pattern seekers in our incessant meaning-making. I constellate my memories, sense-make my path, generate my revelations.

In our dedicated cleaning and rearranging of the house, the restoration project of my studio after the flood, we bought new shelves. My art and work books were piled high on an old computer desk, made mostly inaccessible. Gathering dust. With the new shelves, the ease of access to my books, comes new energy.

I sorted through my books before placing them on the shelves. Many of the work books, the resources I used for my past life, didn’t make the cut. In fact, none of them did. It was a revelation, placing them in sacks and moving them out of the house. With open space comes new energy.

Carrying a particularly loathsome sack of books to the recycle bin, I realized that every major change in my life has come with a book purge. When I left Los Angeles, I gave my library of 1000 plays to a friend. When I left central California for Seattle, I took a truckload of books to the used book store. I left a pile of favorites in the building that housed the school and theatre programs I’d created.

My books about Picasso, Matisse, Renoir, Leonardo, Michelangelo…they’ve always made the cut. They are space openers. Life-givers. The connective tissue in the constellation called “My Life”. This is not a revelation. I wondered why I so often turn away from it, stack my books and my life in difficult-to-reach ways.

Another gift Horatio gave to me in our call last week: as I was dumping on him my truckload of excuses and justifications for not painting, he stopped me, saying, “I think it’s much more elementary than you are making it. Decide what you want to do and do it. Your challenge is that you don’t know what you like.” He added, “You have the germs of what you like…”

Cleaning and placing my books on my shelf was like coming home. When I stood back and could see all that I’ve carried through my many, many moves, there was no doubt what I like, there is no doubt about what connects the many stars in my constellation.

read Kerri’s blogpost on THE DISH

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The Great Gift Of Purpose [David’s blog on DR Thursday]

“In oneself lies the whole world and if you know how to look and learn, the door is there and the key is in your hand. Nobody on earth can give you either the key or the door to open, except yourself.” ~ Krishnamurti

In the United States of America, today is the day we give thanks. Imagine it! 364 days dedicated to dog-eat-dog grousing with one day set aside for thanks-giving. Envision for a moment a flip of our dedication: a single day devoted to complaining-and-selfish-taking with the entire rest of the year committed to gratefulness and appreciation.

Is it possible for gratitude and cherishing-others to be the norm?

Tom Mck’s grandfather told the story of two Civil War veterans who owned adjacent ranches. One vet fought for the north and the other fought for the south. They shot at each other every day creating a dangerous situation for the whole community since their ranches were on the road to town. Finally, no longer willing to dodge bullets just to go to the market, the community brought the two men together and negotiated an accord with them: the vets agreed to shoot at each other only one day a year, the same day each year. Their fellow citizens knew not to go to market on the auspicious day.

I thought about those two men this morning. Their entire reason-for-being was to hate each other. They gave to each other the great gift of purpose. An unspoken detail of the story, perhaps the most important aspect of the whole story, is this: none of the bullets they fired over many years ever hit the mark; they were either terrible shots or they didn’t really want to eliminate their reason-for-being. They intentionally missed. They loved to hate their neighbor.

It’s a complex game we play, is it not? The tale of the two Civil War vets is a story for our times.

Is the great-gift-of-purpose as easily given to loving, uplifting and supporting our neighbors? Is our capacity for generosity and consideration really so limited? Is there only enough for a single 24 hour period?

Is aggression and hate really more magnetic and satisfying than kindness and love?

Our nation chooses this day as Thanksgiving. Kerri’s and my wish for this troubled land on this day of laying down our weapons: a genuine flip of our dedication.

read Kerri’s blogpost about THANKSGIVING

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Simply Arriving [David’s blog on DR Thursday]

“Each one of us is the custodian of an inner world that we carry around with us.”
~ John O’Donohue, Walking in Wonder: Eternal Wisdom for a Modern World

In my early artist-life, showing my paintings threw me into conflict: I really wanted my paintings to be seen but I feared what they might reveal about me – namely, that I believed that I had no idea what I was doing. I was the poster child for imposter syndrome, a boiling bucket of self-doubt. I used to describe myself as having one foot on the gas and one foot on the brakes.

Even though I was surrounded by wise elders and insightful mentors who assured me that no one really knows what they are doing, my fear of exposure shielded me from their sound advice. I huddled behind a fortress of my own making.

We came upon the vibrant yellow leaves still clinging to their branches, seated next to a field of brilliant ochre and orange grasses. The shock of color was enough to drop me into the present which – as always happens when I become fully present – made the colors that-much-more vivid. Then, the yellow sent me through a time tunnel, a visceral memory of that younger version of myself working in a studio, nearly dancing, smearing yellow paint on an enormous canvas. He was completely in the moment, fully alive.

I wished that this older version of myself could have tapped him on the shoulder and said, “This is what makes you whole, authentic.” I would add, “Someday you will understand. Someday you will leave the fortress behind.”

There is a thread, a consistent truth, that binds us, the young artist and this much older version: this beautiful world has always had a way of shocking me into presence; I have always understood the capacity to be shocked-into-presence as a gift. It has has opened my eyes. It helps me see.

And, when I see, I disappear into “something bigger” than myself. The dance beyond striving. I am lucky: not everyone understands the power of not-knowing, the pleasure of simply arriving, fully alive.

Self Portrait on the Oregon Coast (circa 1988?)

read Kerri’s blog about YELLOW

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Voices Of Clarity [David’s blog on DR Thursday]

“A society must assume that it is stable, but the artist must know, and he must let us know, that there is nothing stable under heaven.” ~ James Baldwin (via The Marginalian)

We picked our window of time perfectly. We needed to walk, to get out of the house and breathe yet it had rained much of the morning. Antsy, we took a chance when there was a small break in the weather and headed for the trail.

We walked slowly. We kept an eye on the sky. We watched the next band of storm clouds roll in. It was beautiful. It was ominous. The rain came a few moments after we completed our loop, just as we were getting into the car. We laughed at our good fortune.

Some people take photographs to record events. Kerri, like all artists, takes photographs to feed her spirit. She sees beauty and the photo is way to connect or harmonize with the beauty. It is akin to a hummingbird drinking nectar. I watched her take photos of the coming storm. There was a fierceness in her posture. There was joy in the face of the tumultuous clouds. As I watched I remembered a conversation I had with Brad about the reason artists create. There is a precise moment for the child-artist that a spark lights a soul-fire. In my moment I desperately wanted to see clearly what was happening behind peoples’ eyes; behind my own eyes.

“Tyrants always fear art because tyrants want to mystify while art tends to clarify.”~ Iris Murdoch (via The Marginalia)

Later I looked at her photograph of the rolling storm and thought it a perfect image for our times. The storm is coming. Lydia wrote a comment musing about the surprise rise in prices the maga-faithful (and the rest of us) will experience when the people who pick our crops are deported. I responded darkly that the artists and intellectuals will pick the crops from their place at the corporate farm detention camp. Despots always have to eliminate voices of reason, voices of criticism and opposition. Voices of clarity.

Today, now, more than ever, I want to understand what-on-earth is happening behind peoples’ eyes. As I understand it, this is exactly the time, when chaos and deception rule the day, that artists get-crackin’ to clarify.

Icarus. 30.5″x59.5″, acrylic on canvas

read Kerri’s blogpost about THE COMING STORM

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